7 Mirrors
by The Frogness
Summary: A Draco orientated view of the last battle as such, primarily angst but with small intentions of DM/HG. Not really very R, more an M15+ mainly cos of angst. Read and Review


A/N: Um, pretty much something that I just came up with on the spot late at night. If it doesn't follow properly excuse me, but as I said I came up with it on the spot and as such it has no plot. 

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, they belong to J.K and Warner Bros. And all them others. Just my thoughts on Draco Malfoy.

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So…they crashed the gates.

I figured it would happen eventually, figured they'd get tired of waiting and attack.

There were times when I'd get tired of all the waiting myself, just want to get up attack and be done with it…. But no.

Something I learned in my lifetime is that war is mostly threats, fear and waiting. And this was most definitely a war, despite what the ignorant believed. 

Apparently "random" killing sprees of muggle, mudbloods and Aurors families just aren't enough to get the minister off his ass anymore. I'm really not sure anything could do that nowadays, at least not anything the Dark Lord and below.

So. So…. So what? 

So, I am finally at my 17th year of life, my 7th year at this illustrious school of magic, 7 days away to the freedom of adult life…and this happens. He has attacked.

I guess it figures really. 

I remember once, back last summer, or was it two? Jeez I don't know. Anyway, I dared Crabbe and Goyle to go with me into a local pub we had discovered back when we were friends, what was that, 7 years ago now? Anyway, even back then, going into a muggle pub wasn't exactly safe for the son of Lucius Malfoy. I guess the taboo on it was one of the reasons I wanted to go in really, get a silent stab back at my loving father without him knowing. 

I remember we sat there, sipping at these watery looking beers (I don't think the man realized we were underage) when one of those muggle songs came on the radio. 

Life's a bitch and then you die.

Never had any words struck me as hard as those, and out of the mouth of a muggle pop star no less. I sat there for a long time, staring at the drink before me with a dazed look on my face, sort of like the one when I heard my father tell me of my initiation.

Life's a bitch and then you die. In the end Goyle grunted at me and we left, but those same dammed words rang through me like a bell.

Damnit, why am I crying?! Stupid tears. 

I can hear them now, their footsteps thud above me as they race though the endless halls of Hogwarts.

Hogwarts. The hallowed halls of Hogwarts, sanctuary to the good and kind hearted alike. So why is it that they placed me here? What purpose did myself and my fellow Slytherins fulfill here?

Their screaming is clearer now. Terrified shrieks, angry yells and despairing wails alike meet my ears now, and I realise that this sanctuary will again be filled with ghosts of the dead. 

Their tears will never stop falling.

I used to think that my tears would never stop falling. I would make Parkinson cover my blotched skin with concealment charms, the ones she used for her awful pimples to hide my face away from them all. 

From her. 

That was when they started to think I was a rebel. 

Sixth year. 

My once perfect skin was starting to develop dark bruises from lack of sleep, but they thought it was from fighting. My hair was starting to get longer, they thought it was to promote my looks, but in truth I just forgot about them.

I looked in a mirror once, and saw a small boy smiling back at me, a faint sneer lingering about the pale lips and conceit flaming within the eyes. I looked back into one a while ago, and all I saw was a rotting corpse, dark bruised and bloodied, eyes filled with never ending torment and lips etched in a grimace of pain. 

I broke that mirror. And the next. And the one after that one. 

My room is now filled with broken mirrors. I get a sadistic feeling of joy as I hear my mirror image cry out in pain as it body is broken into pieces and falls to the ground.

They started avoiding me then.

Blaise said I was insane. I told him that no; I was in fact a Sagittarius. He laughed then, a shaky laugh; it sounded a lot like a rodent in pain.

I know this because I remember myself making those same noises back in 4th year when that bastard Moody transfigured me. 

He transfigured my mother too. It was a raid on the manor, and instead of killing her, he was nice enough to keep her safe. Turned her into a mirror, in mockery of her name. Narcissa. He smiled at me that day; my 16th birthday. Handed me a mirror and said here was a present with his love. 

I gave him that cold dull stare, then looked down into the gold hand mirror he held in his wrinkly old hand. 

That was the last mirror I looked into, did you know? The glass left small scars on my knuckles, and I wouldn't allow that witch Pomfrey or even Snape try to heal them. 

They're still here too, small and almost invisible on the dirty alabaster skin as I place my wand into my robe pocket. 

They should be coming any minute now, and I rise from my place against the wall to meet them, palms sweaty as my breath hitches in fearful anticipation. 

I did try to be good. I tried so hard, not just for her. But for myself. 

There was a time when I longed to have this chance to defeat the golden trio, longed and lusted to be able to sneer down at them in glory. 

But, the things we long for as a child change, as we grow older. What right does a fallen and broken angel have to try and break those that can still fly? I read that once, form an old text my father had in his library. She once said it was appropriate for me, but I told her no. I was never able to fly. 

I can hear their voices ever clearer now, heavy and echoing on the walls around me. It is now as I walk ever closer to death, that I once again realise what I realised such a long time ago.

The blood of a Malfoy, my blood, is worthless to them unless shed and pooling on the floor.

Those tears that ran down my face start again, and I let out a shaky laugh. What a fine way to die, broken, bloody and crying in the face of perfect potter. 

They're here now, covered in blood and dirt, staring at me in anger horror and shame as I stand there laughing, and Potter points his wand at me. I can no longer hear what he says and I turn away from him, into the face of Her. Granger.

With eyes full of tears she looks at me before dropping her gaze to the ground, and I laugh and look downwards also, to the bump in her stomach. Heh. Weasleys child.

Oh well, I tell myself. At least that's one thing I can count on. Red haired stubbornness for the future. 

I can vaguely hear Weasley and Potter screaming at me, and I'm sure they have their wands pointed at my head, but all I can do is laugh. 

There were so many times in our school lives where we found ourselves in situations like this, why should it be any different?

Shaking my head I reach a hand inside my pocket, lifting my ebony wand out as I twirl it around my fingers.

I smile and tell them I thank them, that I don't think I have ever hated anyone constantly all my life, and I'm loathe to see that Potter has regret in his eyes as I point my wand at myself.

I mutter those two words softly, ands through the flash of green I can see her screaming at me no, but it's too late. 

My body falls to the floor, that last broken smile still playing on those cracked lips. I see her sobbing, before Weasley and Potter drag her up and away from where I came from. 

I can feel them now, fleeing the castle into the darkness of the night and forest. Where no doubt Weasley will protect his young and pregnant wife from the onslaught of death eaters awaiting them, and Potter will duel Voldermort till one cries out in death. 

I sigh a heavy sigh, and my hand goes to reach at my back, only to find the coolness of death there, no wings sprouting, no wings at all.

I sigh once more, and drift myself away. 

I was right. Their tears will never stop falling. I know because I see them every day now, some small and some large like Hagrid, ghostly forms filing through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, tears falling but never a spot to be seen.

They all remind me of mirrors, and I can't help but scream out in hopes that I'll be able to break them all, just to make their images all go away.

I broke Seven mirrors one day. When I was 17 years old, in my 7th year, 7 days away from my birthday. The day I died. 

7 years bad luck.

A/N: Just some ending notes I guess. Yes that was a rather random story. Anyway, let me clear some tuff up. This is just my personal view on Draco Malfoys life and the final battle, although it is rather obscure I know. Anyways, I believe he had a thing for Hermione, but they never went out because she was with Ron. Yes she is pregnant and married in this, why? Because I types it as such and it was extremely convenient to my musings. Also, for those who don't know, Narcissus is a Greek guy who was obsessed with himself and his looks, and is often drawn with a mirror. Narcissa is the female name of that. Also, the song that Draco heard, no I don't remember the lyrics and no I don't care if they do or don't fit in with the timeline. :P

In any case thanks to Sarah for pointing these things out to fix, so cya!


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